ibition, a dead letter
to all who could afford to patronize the underground mart, had but
added to the spice of life, and it was patent that Miss Dwight had a
cellar. More cocktails, highballs, sherry, were passed continuously,
and two enthusiastic guests made a punch. Fashionable young actors and
actresses began to arrive. Hilarity waxed, impromptu speeches were
made, songs rose on every key. Then suddenly some one ran up to the
victrola and turned on the jazz; and in a twinkling the dining-room was
deserted, furniture in the large room upstairs was pushed to the wall
and the night entered on its last phase.

Then only did Madame Zattiany signify her intention of retiring, and
Clavering, to whom such entertainments were too familiar to banish for
more than a moment his heavy disquiet, hastened to her side with a sigh
of relief and a sinking sensation behind his ribs. Madame Zattiany
made her farewells not only with graciousness but with unmistakable
sincerity in her protestations of having passed her "most interesting
evening in New York."

Miss Dwight went up to the dressing-room with her, and Clavering,
retrieving hat and top-coat, waited for her at the front door. She
came down radiant and talking animatedly to her hostess; but when they
had parted and she was alone with Clavering her face seemed suddenly to
turn to stone and her lids drooped. As she was about to pass him she
shrank back, and then raised her eyes to his. In that fleeting moment
they looked as when he had met them first: inconceivably old, wise,
disillusioned.

"Now for it," he thought grimly as he closed the door and followed her
out to the pavement. "The Lord have mercy----" And then he made a
sudden resolution.

XXIX

Madame Zattiany did not utter a word during the short walk to her house.
It was evident that she had dismissed the merry evening from her mind and
was brooding on the coming hour. At the top of the steps she handed him
the latchkey, but still lingered outside for a moment. As he took her
hand and drew her gently into the house he felt that she was trembling.

"Come," he said, his own voice shaking. "Remember that you need tell me
nothing unless you wish. This idea of confession before marriage is
infernal rot. I have not the least intention of making one of my own."

"Oh!" She gave a short harsh laugh. "I should never dream of asking for
any man's confession. They are all alike. And I must tell you.